Forecast
by angels weep before they fly
Summary: And maybe it was predestination, or maybe just a stroke of unluck, but this- this is desperate at its peak. Scorrose, for the Weather Prompts Challeng on the forum. Oneshot.


**A/N:** Prompts from the Weather Prompts Challenge on RoseScorpius Fans. (Sunny, but gusty; plague; melee; destruction) Enjoy, and please tell me what you thought of it!

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><p><em>13<em>_th__ August: _'So I guess this is goodbye, then.'

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><p><strong>Monday (9.4) <strong>Cloudy;

**Tuesday (10.4) **Afternoon showers;

**Wednesday (11.4) **Cloudy;

**Thursday (12.4) **Thunderstorms;

**Friday (13.4) **Sunny, with wind gusts

_This has been the Daily Prophet, with: __The Weather_

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><p><em>18<em>_th__ August: _'This is AMAZING. I don't miss the past at all. I'll never get bored of this.'

_9__th__ September: _'I'm so bored.'

_23__rd__ October:_ 'Happy birthday. I'm sorry I couldn't be there.'

_23__rd__ October:_ 'To… celebrate.'

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><p><em><strong>(Monday)<strong>_And the last three days/ weeks/ months all blur into one, in the melee of thoughts going around his damaged mind, driven only _slightly_ crazy by distance, and the fact that the only person he's ever truly loved is gone far away, across the ocean, and is it ironic that she's the one who writes him, when all he wants to do is send words back to her and tell her he loves her (in so little words?).

And yet, he can't. Because it's not that there's some physical barrier separating them, oh no. It's the simple, yet oh so complex reason that… he can't for the _life_ of him work out how to get that stupid muggle thing to let him write a message back.

(_31__st__ March:_ 'God, Scor! Reply already! I just… don't understand why you won't. Are you mad at me? We can talk about it!')

_**(Tuesday)**_ He feels so silly for it, too, and the times when her emotions shine through in the plague of one-sided messages he receives through the thing now, and after all this time, he hates the chime that announces the message, when light shines from it and he can read something, anything of what she's said- something so purely _her_, that he doesn't even have to read the name at the top that he supposes is the sender to know it.

_**(Wednesday)**_ "No hope, no hope, she's gone and I am slowly sinking into crazy land and I don't know what I'm doing and I've gone insane, haven't I, Maya?"

A pause.

"Just a little bit there, Scor. But at least you realise it. And come Friday, you'll be all better. You'll see- look, they're predicting sun."

_("Now Maya, you absolutely can't tell Scorpius this, but… _

_I'm coming home Friday…_

_and I don't want him turning up and making a scene with whatever else he's mad at me for this time." She hangs up before Maya can answer.)_

_**(Thursday)**_ They say that you should never be outside in a thunderstorm, but what happens when it's raging inside your head, wreaking havoc and causing destruction in your mind? The metal of the park bench is freezing, but it's worth it, for those lightning flashes of inspiration that come from a flash of bright red curls whipping round a white picket fence, or a light mint green dress (just like her favourite). That is, until the thunder comes, and strips down the stuff your dreams were based on, and with that sickening crash comes realisation- that _she's not coming back_.

(_17__th__ November:_ 'I got an extension on my stay. Which is good, but now I don't get to see you until a while longer…')

(_2__nd__ January: _'I don't really know when I'm coming back, now, only that it's soon. Just a little bit longer!')

_**(Friday) **_Force of tradition has him standing there, for the first half hour of his day before he finally decides that this is what he needs to do. (Usually, he leaves)

"Hello, this is the Apple Genius Bar. How can I be of assistance today?"

"This is your product, yes? On the back, it is an apple. You are the Apple Store, it makes sense… How do you use this thing?" Scorpius holds out the phone to the salesman serving him, and, after realising that this wasn't actually a joke, the guy shows him how to send a message. That's all he ever needed to do.

"Ten months, I was gone, and it took you this long to swallow your pride and ask for help?"

And somehow, with that voice ringing in his ears, even condescending as it is, Scorpius knows that the forecast was right, and it's strange, that- the funny feeling of pathetic fallacy (how can it _possibly_ reflect for just him?) but now he knows that it's all going to be alright. That's not to stop him from freaking out, trying to get all his emotions in order.

So he runs.

(It's one of those predicted gusts)

Rose stares.

Her phone sounds.

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><p><em>13<em>th<em> April: <em>__'So I guess this is hello. S___.'___

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><p>Review?<p> 


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